Chapter 37
I drove over to the diner after the game. This was a day filled with just too much change and disappointment. Bob's murder seemed to overshadow everything else. It seemed to make everything else insignificant.
I sensed that something was wrong, or certainly strange about the funeral. Too many people seemed to be holding back too many tears. Mary, Gus, Gloria, Becky, and Gloria's Mom all seemed to fight back any release of pain and loss. It was almost eerie the lack of emotion showed at the funeral. Had Bob's being gone for so long in the service and now his being off at school in Chicago kind of placed him out of sight, out of mind? Had these people emotionally disengaged themselves from Bob along time ago? His personal career choices had clearly disengaged himself from his family and hometown friends. I wondered why? At some point these people were going to explode with emotion.
I had arrived at the diner and went inside. I found Gloria sitting at a booth by herself, but in her regular clothes. It was clear she had not been working. I went down and sat across from her. She looked up as I moved into the seat and gave me a big smile.
"Listened to the game on the radio," said Gloria. "Just didn't feel much like going to the park tonight. Team is still playing well."
"Ya," I replied, "I don't think many of us felt like playing tonight. Maybe it was best we did, but it was hard to keep focused, our minds on just the game. This has been a strange day."
"I know," said Gloria. "I still can't believe we were at Bob's funeral. Here he is, a great guy, wanting to go in the ministry and help these kids and two months later he dead in some stupid shooting that no one understands. If this is God's idea of some kind of sign he sure needs to explain it to a lot of people."
"My grandmother used to read us Old Testament stories about how mad God would get and wipe out entire nations," I stated. "She also liked the story of Job who had a very happy and wealthy existence until God was challenged by the devil, whose opinion was that Job was only loyal to God because he blessed him with riches. God challenged the devil back, but no matter what evil the devil heaped on Job he still remained faithful."
"I really don't know," I continued. "Maybe sometimes WE put too much importance on what happens here on earth instead of dealing with eternity, what God wants of us, how we treat others, and how much leadership we provide in our little corner of the world. In Bob's case, maybe there is no message, except that the devil does have dominion over THIS earth. That much I know is Scriptural. Maybe Bob was going to make a difference, we won't know now. His dreams are certainly gone by this senseless shooting. Maybe now Chicago will get all these thugs off the streets and in prison where they belong."
"I always wondered how different things might have been had Bob accepted that athletic scholarship and stayed in school," thought Gloria out loud. "His emotions seemed to take over his head, leaving that dream behind. He seemed to have no regrets, though. Maybe his success as an Army pilot made up for his lost college athletic career. Bob was the type that created success where ever he went what he did would have probably made little difference. If he had done tidily-winks he would have most likely been All-World. At least he would still be alive. Maybe for many of us Bob died a long time ago. He walked out on us, left us behind. I think it hurt more back them because we loved him so. His new life choices made us start again, too. Some strange twist of fate, though."
Mel brought over two cups and a thermal pitcher full of coffee and set it down in the middle of the table.
"You kids want something to eat before I shut the griddle down," he asked? "I know it's late, but I don't mind. Bill, you must be hungry?
"No thanks, Mel," I answer. "Don't feel much like eating tonight. Thanks anyway."
"O.K.," replied Mel. "Take your time, I’ve got plenty of cleaning up to do. Just gonna turned down some of the lights and shut the sign off."
"How are Mary and your Mom holding up," I ask?
"She seems all right," replied Gloria. "Mom is going to stay close to Mary for a while. Mom remembered how depressed she was after Dad died, didn't realize it, though. She had just a sense of carelessness, like not wanting to do anything or go anywhere. She was just content to sit around doing nothing. That wasn't like Mom and is certainly not like Mary. In Mom's case it just seemed to take time. With Mary, I just don't know."
"Gloria, we have another problem," I stat. "It really compounds things, I think."
"Bill, what is it," asked Gloria with much concern in her voice?
"George has decided to shake up the New York Monarchs," I continue. "He has fired the manager and replaced him with Red. He is also taking three players from Madison with him...I am one of them."
"Oh, Bill," said Gloria excitedly. "That is great news for you. I am so happy for you. You are going to get to realize your dream after all.
Gloria paused. She sensed my lack of excitement.
"Bill, what is wrong," she asked? "How can you not be excited about this chance?"
"I just don't think that leaving Gus and Mary right now is a good thing for them," I state sincerely. "Becky spends more time off with Dave Bolton. They're getting married in less than three months and it just doesn't seem like a good time to leave the house so empty right now."
"Bill, you listen to me," snapped Gloria. "This is not about Gus and Mary; it's about you, period. Have you forgotten that you gave up on your dream once already? Most people don't get second chances, Bill. You got one. Don't say no, this time too. No one is going to think badly of you for thinking about yourself first, this time. Please do this for yourself, for me, for Gus and Mary. Quite frankly, we don't need any more guilt right now. Please go and do this."
"O.K., I'm going," I said with a small smile on my face. "You don't need to have a liter of kittens right here in the diner over this." I laughed. Gloria did too.
"I'm not going to have a liter of kittens," said Gloria. "I still haven't found the right TomCat yet, or, maybe I have, but he just doesn't know it yet."
My face became a little flushed. I was caught off guard and wasn't sure what to say. I sure had strong feeling for Gloria, I really loved her. It was the first time she had even made so much of a hint of her true feelings for me.
"Look at your face, Mr. Alan," said Gloria smiling. "First time I ever made a Big Leaguer blush."
"I hope it's not the last," I reply. "I sure hope it is not the last."
I reached across the table and took both of her hands in mine. Gloria responded by squeezing mine very tightly. We sat there quietly and finished our coffee. There was not much more that needed to be said tonight.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Chapter 36 The Dreamers
Chapter 36
"Gus, come on in here for a second will ya," shouted Red from his office. He had spotted Gus putting out the last of the uniforms for tonight’s game in the player stalls. "Come on in and close the door."
Gus did as he was asked. He shouldn't have been at the ball park in the first place. Bob's death, the funeral, he could be taking some time off. As long as Mary was not alone he was doing the right thing if it made him feel better thought Red.
"What's up, Red," asked Gus "Need me to do somethin before game time for ya?"
"No, nothin like that," answered Red. "Take a seat. I want to talk to you a minute."
Gus sat. He could sense something was up. He and Red hardly ever had conversations in Red's office.
George wants me to come to New York and take over the Monarchs," announced Red to Gus. "Really wants to shake up the boys in the Big Apple. I don't really have much of a choice but to take the assignment, Gus, you know George. His way or the hi-way."
"I know," said Gus. "Just, why does it have to be right now?"
"I know, the timing stinks," replied Red. "It could have been last week or just as well next week. The only time that applies is when George is ready. You know that."
"I know," said Gus looking at the floor. "I guess it really doesn't make that much difference."
"One other thing," said Red. "I'm taking three players with me from this team. I want Billy to be one of them. I think he is ready, Gus, really I do. I wanted to let you be the first to know. Even Billy doesn't know. With Bob's death and all I'm not so sure it the best of ideas for you and Mary. That's why I asked you in here, to talk to you about it."
"You really hit a guy with both barrels don't you Red," stated Gus. "This one really hurts. You know how fond we've become of Billy. He and Bob are so much...were so much a like. It will be really tough on Mary, I think. Maybe Gloria and her Mom can help keep Mary busy for a while. It will be tough, but I think we can do it."
"You sure," asked Red. "I want you to O.K. this part. Otherwise Billy stays."
"No, it's not fair to the kid," said Gus. "He came here to make his way to the big leagues. It's not fair for us to stand in the way. He’s earned it, Red. We'll manage."
"O.K., Gus, if you say so," said Red. "I'm going to make the announcement after tonight’s game. The only other person who knows is Reggie. I'm taking Tavy and Jack Meyers, too. Tavy is out of options. Reggie understood. Billy and Jack will give the team some needed pitching. I think there both ready. They both pitch smart. That's more important than speed. We'll sure find out tomorrow. Billy's turn would be here tomorrow afternoon. He'll just be doing it eighty miles to the south, that's all," finished Red.
"Thanks Gus for understanding," said Red with a big smile on his face. "I’ll start thinking about being in New York next year. If I get asked back I want you there, too."
"We'll talk about that later," stated Gus. "I've got some things I need to do." Gus left the room. He knew full well he wasn't going to New York, ever. Reality was, so did Red.
The Monarchs won their game five to one. The club house mood was not festive. There was kind of a sullen nature to the bench all game. It was hard for the players not to thinking about Bob, the funeral, Gus and Mary. There was a business like attitude the whole game. Even after Reggie hit is twenty-third homer in the sixth to put the game out of reach, there was not much celebrating in the dugout.
Red gathered the team in the center of the locker room to make his announcement. Gus stood by his side.
"Men, I have some tough news to tell you," Red began. "New York wants to make some changes with the big club and is going to announce at 10AM tomorrow morning that I will be the new New York manager."
A big cheer goes up in the room.
"Way to go, skip," said a voice from the back. "You deserve it," said Mario. "For once George made a smart choice."
Laughter fills the room.
"Right on," said Reggie. "That's the truth."
"All right," said Red. "I'm taking three of our players with me. Jack Meyers, Jon Tavy, and Bill Alan. We leave first thing in the morning and all will be starting tomorrow in New York."
"Oh, man," says Mario. "There goes our chance for the pennant. How can he do that to us?"
"Hey, I know this is tough," stated Red. "You'll have three talented prospect coming up from A ball. Mike Miller is coming up from Chattanooga. He is seven and two and they tell me he pitches like he's thirty. Memphis is sending Mark Martin, their first baseman, who is hitting .310 with nineteen homers. Replacing Billy is going to be a problem. George is working on that one with his scouts tonight. These players will be here tomorrow. They can help you guys win this thing. Help them out and make them feel at home. That's all I ask."
"O.K.," said Dave Bolton. "We'll take care of it, Skip."
"No problem," added Reggie. "Any body messes with the new blood will have to mess with me. We’re winning this pennant for us and Bob Lollar."
"All right," said Red. "Just one other thing. I just wanted to tell you guys that I was really enjoying this year. We were having some fun, breaking a few windows as they say. You guys were playing your behinds off for me and I appreciate it. I look around this room land see no reason why you all couldn't join me in New York in a few years. Thanks again for a great year. I'm going to miss you." Bolton yells out, "Three cheers for the coach."
"HIP, HIP, HURRAY! HIP, HIP, HURRAY! HIP, HIP, HURRAY!" shouted the team. Red disappeared into his office and closed the door. Leaving was tougher than he thought.
The players all quickly showered and left. Jack Meyers and Jon Tavy cleared out their lockers into a couple of team bags. Gus told us to be here at the park by 10AM for the trip to New York.
I was the last to dress and still had not packed my gear. Gus came over and sat next to me.
"What's wrong, son," asked Gus. "Your big chance tomorrow," He lightly socked me in the arm.
"Gus, I don't think I can do it," I said. "I can't leave you and Mary right now. It's not right."
"Listen, Bill," began Gus, "I know you feel bad about Bob, we all do, but reality is that life goes on. Bob would not want you to miss taking your shot in the big leagues because of him or his death. The best thing you can do to honor him is to go to New York and make it big. That was Bob's dream, to play for the Monarchs. You have to take his place. He would want you to."
"Gus, are you sure," I ask. "You say the word and I'm not going. That's it."
"No, you go, son," answered Gus. "That is the right thing to do. Mary will understand."
Gus rose from the chair and began cleaning up. He turned back to me.
"Now, get a move on." said Gus emphatically. "You've got some news to tell Gloria, boy. I'll see you at home later."
I finished getting dressed and packing my things, leaving the bags in front of the locker. I pulled the tape off the top of the locker that had my name on it. I wadded it up and threw it in the waste can as I left the room.
I went out to my car, unlocked it and just sat behind the wheel for a moment. I started it up and pulled out of the parking lot, turning toward the diner. I hoped Gloria was not going to be a problem. This was one heck of a day I thought. I was glad it was almost over.
"Gus, come on in here for a second will ya," shouted Red from his office. He had spotted Gus putting out the last of the uniforms for tonight’s game in the player stalls. "Come on in and close the door."
Gus did as he was asked. He shouldn't have been at the ball park in the first place. Bob's death, the funeral, he could be taking some time off. As long as Mary was not alone he was doing the right thing if it made him feel better thought Red.
"What's up, Red," asked Gus "Need me to do somethin before game time for ya?"
"No, nothin like that," answered Red. "Take a seat. I want to talk to you a minute."
Gus sat. He could sense something was up. He and Red hardly ever had conversations in Red's office.
George wants me to come to New York and take over the Monarchs," announced Red to Gus. "Really wants to shake up the boys in the Big Apple. I don't really have much of a choice but to take the assignment, Gus, you know George. His way or the hi-way."
"I know," said Gus. "Just, why does it have to be right now?"
"I know, the timing stinks," replied Red. "It could have been last week or just as well next week. The only time that applies is when George is ready. You know that."
"I know," said Gus looking at the floor. "I guess it really doesn't make that much difference."
"One other thing," said Red. "I'm taking three players with me from this team. I want Billy to be one of them. I think he is ready, Gus, really I do. I wanted to let you be the first to know. Even Billy doesn't know. With Bob's death and all I'm not so sure it the best of ideas for you and Mary. That's why I asked you in here, to talk to you about it."
"You really hit a guy with both barrels don't you Red," stated Gus. "This one really hurts. You know how fond we've become of Billy. He and Bob are so much...were so much a like. It will be really tough on Mary, I think. Maybe Gloria and her Mom can help keep Mary busy for a while. It will be tough, but I think we can do it."
"You sure," asked Red. "I want you to O.K. this part. Otherwise Billy stays."
"No, it's not fair to the kid," said Gus. "He came here to make his way to the big leagues. It's not fair for us to stand in the way. He’s earned it, Red. We'll manage."
"O.K., Gus, if you say so," said Red. "I'm going to make the announcement after tonight’s game. The only other person who knows is Reggie. I'm taking Tavy and Jack Meyers, too. Tavy is out of options. Reggie understood. Billy and Jack will give the team some needed pitching. I think there both ready. They both pitch smart. That's more important than speed. We'll sure find out tomorrow. Billy's turn would be here tomorrow afternoon. He'll just be doing it eighty miles to the south, that's all," finished Red.
"Thanks Gus for understanding," said Red with a big smile on his face. "I’ll start thinking about being in New York next year. If I get asked back I want you there, too."
"We'll talk about that later," stated Gus. "I've got some things I need to do." Gus left the room. He knew full well he wasn't going to New York, ever. Reality was, so did Red.
The Monarchs won their game five to one. The club house mood was not festive. There was kind of a sullen nature to the bench all game. It was hard for the players not to thinking about Bob, the funeral, Gus and Mary. There was a business like attitude the whole game. Even after Reggie hit is twenty-third homer in the sixth to put the game out of reach, there was not much celebrating in the dugout.
Red gathered the team in the center of the locker room to make his announcement. Gus stood by his side.
"Men, I have some tough news to tell you," Red began. "New York wants to make some changes with the big club and is going to announce at 10AM tomorrow morning that I will be the new New York manager."
A big cheer goes up in the room.
"Way to go, skip," said a voice from the back. "You deserve it," said Mario. "For once George made a smart choice."
Laughter fills the room.
"Right on," said Reggie. "That's the truth."
"All right," said Red. "I'm taking three of our players with me. Jack Meyers, Jon Tavy, and Bill Alan. We leave first thing in the morning and all will be starting tomorrow in New York."
"Oh, man," says Mario. "There goes our chance for the pennant. How can he do that to us?"
"Hey, I know this is tough," stated Red. "You'll have three talented prospect coming up from A ball. Mike Miller is coming up from Chattanooga. He is seven and two and they tell me he pitches like he's thirty. Memphis is sending Mark Martin, their first baseman, who is hitting .310 with nineteen homers. Replacing Billy is going to be a problem. George is working on that one with his scouts tonight. These players will be here tomorrow. They can help you guys win this thing. Help them out and make them feel at home. That's all I ask."
"O.K.," said Dave Bolton. "We'll take care of it, Skip."
"No problem," added Reggie. "Any body messes with the new blood will have to mess with me. We’re winning this pennant for us and Bob Lollar."
"All right," said Red. "Just one other thing. I just wanted to tell you guys that I was really enjoying this year. We were having some fun, breaking a few windows as they say. You guys were playing your behinds off for me and I appreciate it. I look around this room land see no reason why you all couldn't join me in New York in a few years. Thanks again for a great year. I'm going to miss you." Bolton yells out, "Three cheers for the coach."
"HIP, HIP, HURRAY! HIP, HIP, HURRAY! HIP, HIP, HURRAY!" shouted the team. Red disappeared into his office and closed the door. Leaving was tougher than he thought.
The players all quickly showered and left. Jack Meyers and Jon Tavy cleared out their lockers into a couple of team bags. Gus told us to be here at the park by 10AM for the trip to New York.
I was the last to dress and still had not packed my gear. Gus came over and sat next to me.
"What's wrong, son," asked Gus. "Your big chance tomorrow," He lightly socked me in the arm.
"Gus, I don't think I can do it," I said. "I can't leave you and Mary right now. It's not right."
"Listen, Bill," began Gus, "I know you feel bad about Bob, we all do, but reality is that life goes on. Bob would not want you to miss taking your shot in the big leagues because of him or his death. The best thing you can do to honor him is to go to New York and make it big. That was Bob's dream, to play for the Monarchs. You have to take his place. He would want you to."
"Gus, are you sure," I ask. "You say the word and I'm not going. That's it."
"No, you go, son," answered Gus. "That is the right thing to do. Mary will understand."
Gus rose from the chair and began cleaning up. He turned back to me.
"Now, get a move on." said Gus emphatically. "You've got some news to tell Gloria, boy. I'll see you at home later."
I finished getting dressed and packing my things, leaving the bags in front of the locker. I pulled the tape off the top of the locker that had my name on it. I wadded it up and threw it in the waste can as I left the room.
I went out to my car, unlocked it and just sat behind the wheel for a moment. I started it up and pulled out of the parking lot, turning toward the diner. I hoped Gloria was not going to be a problem. This was one heck of a day I thought. I was glad it was almost over.
Chapter 35 The Dreamers
Chapter 35
Father Spencer got back to Chicago. Ben was waiting for him at Midway. Their ride back to campus was made in silence. What was there to say, really?
In his office, Father Spencer put in a call to Sergeant Jenkins. Jenkins had been grilling all of the suspects, if you could call them that, all night. They had finally gotten one of the triggermen to tell where Motown Matthews was probably hiding out these days. He was and the Police brought him down to the station at 9:45AM. They had been interrogating him for over 6 hours straight without a single break. It would go on longer if need be.
"You know, Motown, you will be here for as long as it takes," snapped Jenkins. "We're just going to keep bringing in the fresh bodies and keep asking the same stupid question, getting the same stupid answers, until you decide to give us the straight scoop on what went down last night. We have you at the scene with at least three eye witnesses. Two of your triggermen are prepared to testify how you planned it all out. We would just like to know why? Why did you have to kill so many? What did you hope to accomplish?"
"Man, I copping the fifth, dig," chirped Motown. "You got sompin on me, we'll dance in court. Wasting my valuable time with this jive."
"Think it's Jive, do you," snapped Jenkins. He slammed a portable cassette player on the table. "Listen to this choirboy." He played the tape from an interrogation of one of Motown's boys.
"We was at Motown's pad last Friday, planned the whole thing out on a napkin. Couple of his mule/players wasn’t quite keepin up. Thought he needed to teach them a lesson. None of us thought it was going down like this. Was only spose to be couple of shooters. Didn't know Motown brought in reinforcements. Would've skipped known that," said the voice on the tape. Jenkins shut off the tape player.
"I think that might get you life this time, Motown," said Jenkins sarcastically. "Twenty-five counts of murder. You might have to live to be two-thousand to make parole this time. That is unless you decide you want to spill the beans on your whole operation. If not, we'll play it the DA's way. He wants a piece of your behind worse that I do."
Motown sat silently in his chair. He had refused an attorney. He was much too smart to need counsel.
Jenkins couldn't imagine what was going through his mind. What could some guy who just killed over twenty-five people be thinking? Maybe that was the problem. There was no cause and affect to him. The only rule was he was not to be inconvenienced. No life mattered but his. What a shallow existence Jenkins thought. Jenkins motioned to two officers in the room. They moved toward Motown.
"Silence is golden," said Jenkins. "You can take up space just as well in the lock-up. Take him down."
The officers grabbed Motown by the biceps and lifted him out of the chair and took him down stairs. They had cleared out a number of cells to make sure the each of the shooters and Motown had their own cell.
Motown knew who the talker was there just wasn't anything he was going to be doing about it now. He also realized that maybe; just maybe, he wasn't going to be doing anything about it from the outside, probably for a long time as well.
Father Spencer had made his way downtown to the station. Jenkins assigned one of the junior officers to help Father get through the paperwork with the Coroner's Office. Bob's body would be transported back to Connecticut in two days. Father Spencer and Ben would both be accompanying the body. Miller Funeral Home made arrangement to pick them up at Bradley Airport.
The following two weeks were a nightmare for Sergeant Jenkins and his precinct. Countless press conferences, luckily handled by Captain Moss. He assured the community that HE had the perpetrators of the hideous massacre in custody and would be working with the DA's Office and would be seeking the death penalty for everyone involved. What grandstanding thought Jenkins. What election fodder for Moss.
He had enough to do making sure the evidence all fit, no loop holes, no conflicting testimony. He also had to make sure his witnesses didn't get cold feet and/or take a walk. That usually happened in all too many of these cases. No witnesses. No case. Wouldn't be the first time Motown got to the witnesses. Probably wouldn't be the last. Jenkins was determined those days were over.
The Funeral for Bob Lollar was beautiful. It seemed like the whole hometown came out. The street was lined with people as far as the eye could see. It was even being carried by the local cable company. Bob Lollar was certainly loved by the whole town.
Father Spencer and Ben stayed for the funeral and flew back immediately afterwards. There was just too much going on for them to be of much use or help.
Father Spencer told the Lollar's before he left that he was going to establish a Scholarship Fund in Bob's name that would annually pay the full tuition to some inner-city kid who wished to enter the ministry. The Lollars were grateful and knew that Bob would be proud and honored.
The Monarchs had a game that night that the President of the league offered to cancel and be made up later. The team decided to play the game and dedicate the rest of the season to Bob's memory. They all knew that Bob would not want the game called on the account of him. That was not his style. The team would wear black arm bands on their uniform with a gold cross embroidered on the outside.
The family was doing as well as could be expected. Billy and Gloria had grown quite close since her return from California over two months ago. She would be drawing her strength from Billy for a while. It was good that Billy was living with the Lollars. They had been treating him like their lost son ever since he got to town. A role he never really felt comfortable with, but now was truly going to be filling.
He knew what the Lollars were going through. He knew how he felt when his mother, sisters and grandparents were killed. There is nothing to be said. No way to prepare. You just must move on. He could only try and help everyone do just that.
The Monarch’s Owner had been in town and attended Bob's funeral, as well. He had spent the better part of yesterday and today in the company of Red Dodge, the Madison Monarch’s Manager.
Everyone wondered what was up with that. What did George want? What plan was he cooking up this time?
"Red," said George, outside the church fellowship hall where the reception was being held. "Let's go back to the park and your office. Got a couple of ideas I want to bounce off you," he added.
"O.K.," said Red. How could he refuse the Big Boss?
"Red," George began, "the big club stinks. It’s not the manager's fault, but the team is just not responding to anything he has tried. We've decided to really shake them up. Here's the plan."
George said the plan was to fire the manager and put him in charge of the Madison team for the rest of the season. Make Red the new manager of the big club and bring up at least three Madison Monarchs and make them instant starters. The players they replace would be given their immediate release and told to clean out their lockers within two hours. There is no doubt that would get a rise out of the team, just no telling if would have a positive affect and get the team to pull together. Only time would tell.
Red made it clear that he was quite happy with his Madison assignment, but that he would do all he could and be a part of the plan. The fact that he would be bringing some of his players made it more palatable.
Red and George talked about the immediate needs of the team and realized that pitching was most critical. Red made the decision to bring Billy Alan, Jack Meyers, both pitchers, and his toughest choice between Reggie Bond and Jon Tavy. He made the choice on Tavy because this had to be his last year in the minors and now was a good time to see if he could make the jump to the Show.
Red knew that Reggie was at least going to be in triple A next year, maybe even make the jump to the majors next spring training. Jon would not have that luxury, Red thought. George was not usually that patient. Now was the time. Red explained that later to Reggie, who said he understood and had no problem with Red's decision. Reggie wished Red the best and hoped they would be reunited next year in New York. Red promised to do all he could to make that happen. He reminded Reggie a continuation of the great year he was having would make that happen.
Red told George that he would like to make the announcement after tonight’s game. He also made George promise that he would re-stock the Meriden clubs' pitching. It was not fair to the other players who had a chance to make the playoffs to take their top two pitchers in the middle of a pennant race. George agreed.
The affected players and Red could easily make the trip to New York for tomorrow afternoons, Saturday game. George would call a press conference for 10AM tomorrow morning. The bomb would be dropped then.
Father Spencer got back to Chicago. Ben was waiting for him at Midway. Their ride back to campus was made in silence. What was there to say, really?
In his office, Father Spencer put in a call to Sergeant Jenkins. Jenkins had been grilling all of the suspects, if you could call them that, all night. They had finally gotten one of the triggermen to tell where Motown Matthews was probably hiding out these days. He was and the Police brought him down to the station at 9:45AM. They had been interrogating him for over 6 hours straight without a single break. It would go on longer if need be.
"You know, Motown, you will be here for as long as it takes," snapped Jenkins. "We're just going to keep bringing in the fresh bodies and keep asking the same stupid question, getting the same stupid answers, until you decide to give us the straight scoop on what went down last night. We have you at the scene with at least three eye witnesses. Two of your triggermen are prepared to testify how you planned it all out. We would just like to know why? Why did you have to kill so many? What did you hope to accomplish?"
"Man, I copping the fifth, dig," chirped Motown. "You got sompin on me, we'll dance in court. Wasting my valuable time with this jive."
"Think it's Jive, do you," snapped Jenkins. He slammed a portable cassette player on the table. "Listen to this choirboy." He played the tape from an interrogation of one of Motown's boys.
"We was at Motown's pad last Friday, planned the whole thing out on a napkin. Couple of his mule/players wasn’t quite keepin up. Thought he needed to teach them a lesson. None of us thought it was going down like this. Was only spose to be couple of shooters. Didn't know Motown brought in reinforcements. Would've skipped known that," said the voice on the tape. Jenkins shut off the tape player.
"I think that might get you life this time, Motown," said Jenkins sarcastically. "Twenty-five counts of murder. You might have to live to be two-thousand to make parole this time. That is unless you decide you want to spill the beans on your whole operation. If not, we'll play it the DA's way. He wants a piece of your behind worse that I do."
Motown sat silently in his chair. He had refused an attorney. He was much too smart to need counsel.
Jenkins couldn't imagine what was going through his mind. What could some guy who just killed over twenty-five people be thinking? Maybe that was the problem. There was no cause and affect to him. The only rule was he was not to be inconvenienced. No life mattered but his. What a shallow existence Jenkins thought. Jenkins motioned to two officers in the room. They moved toward Motown.
"Silence is golden," said Jenkins. "You can take up space just as well in the lock-up. Take him down."
The officers grabbed Motown by the biceps and lifted him out of the chair and took him down stairs. They had cleared out a number of cells to make sure the each of the shooters and Motown had their own cell.
Motown knew who the talker was there just wasn't anything he was going to be doing about it now. He also realized that maybe; just maybe, he wasn't going to be doing anything about it from the outside, probably for a long time as well.
Father Spencer had made his way downtown to the station. Jenkins assigned one of the junior officers to help Father get through the paperwork with the Coroner's Office. Bob's body would be transported back to Connecticut in two days. Father Spencer and Ben would both be accompanying the body. Miller Funeral Home made arrangement to pick them up at Bradley Airport.
The following two weeks were a nightmare for Sergeant Jenkins and his precinct. Countless press conferences, luckily handled by Captain Moss. He assured the community that HE had the perpetrators of the hideous massacre in custody and would be working with the DA's Office and would be seeking the death penalty for everyone involved. What grandstanding thought Jenkins. What election fodder for Moss.
He had enough to do making sure the evidence all fit, no loop holes, no conflicting testimony. He also had to make sure his witnesses didn't get cold feet and/or take a walk. That usually happened in all too many of these cases. No witnesses. No case. Wouldn't be the first time Motown got to the witnesses. Probably wouldn't be the last. Jenkins was determined those days were over.
The Funeral for Bob Lollar was beautiful. It seemed like the whole hometown came out. The street was lined with people as far as the eye could see. It was even being carried by the local cable company. Bob Lollar was certainly loved by the whole town.
Father Spencer and Ben stayed for the funeral and flew back immediately afterwards. There was just too much going on for them to be of much use or help.
Father Spencer told the Lollar's before he left that he was going to establish a Scholarship Fund in Bob's name that would annually pay the full tuition to some inner-city kid who wished to enter the ministry. The Lollars were grateful and knew that Bob would be proud and honored.
The Monarchs had a game that night that the President of the league offered to cancel and be made up later. The team decided to play the game and dedicate the rest of the season to Bob's memory. They all knew that Bob would not want the game called on the account of him. That was not his style. The team would wear black arm bands on their uniform with a gold cross embroidered on the outside.
The family was doing as well as could be expected. Billy and Gloria had grown quite close since her return from California over two months ago. She would be drawing her strength from Billy for a while. It was good that Billy was living with the Lollars. They had been treating him like their lost son ever since he got to town. A role he never really felt comfortable with, but now was truly going to be filling.
He knew what the Lollars were going through. He knew how he felt when his mother, sisters and grandparents were killed. There is nothing to be said. No way to prepare. You just must move on. He could only try and help everyone do just that.
The Monarch’s Owner had been in town and attended Bob's funeral, as well. He had spent the better part of yesterday and today in the company of Red Dodge, the Madison Monarch’s Manager.
Everyone wondered what was up with that. What did George want? What plan was he cooking up this time?
"Red," said George, outside the church fellowship hall where the reception was being held. "Let's go back to the park and your office. Got a couple of ideas I want to bounce off you," he added.
"O.K.," said Red. How could he refuse the Big Boss?
"Red," George began, "the big club stinks. It’s not the manager's fault, but the team is just not responding to anything he has tried. We've decided to really shake them up. Here's the plan."
George said the plan was to fire the manager and put him in charge of the Madison team for the rest of the season. Make Red the new manager of the big club and bring up at least three Madison Monarchs and make them instant starters. The players they replace would be given their immediate release and told to clean out their lockers within two hours. There is no doubt that would get a rise out of the team, just no telling if would have a positive affect and get the team to pull together. Only time would tell.
Red made it clear that he was quite happy with his Madison assignment, but that he would do all he could and be a part of the plan. The fact that he would be bringing some of his players made it more palatable.
Red and George talked about the immediate needs of the team and realized that pitching was most critical. Red made the decision to bring Billy Alan, Jack Meyers, both pitchers, and his toughest choice between Reggie Bond and Jon Tavy. He made the choice on Tavy because this had to be his last year in the minors and now was a good time to see if he could make the jump to the Show.
Red knew that Reggie was at least going to be in triple A next year, maybe even make the jump to the majors next spring training. Jon would not have that luxury, Red thought. George was not usually that patient. Now was the time. Red explained that later to Reggie, who said he understood and had no problem with Red's decision. Reggie wished Red the best and hoped they would be reunited next year in New York. Red promised to do all he could to make that happen. He reminded Reggie a continuation of the great year he was having would make that happen.
Red told George that he would like to make the announcement after tonight’s game. He also made George promise that he would re-stock the Meriden clubs' pitching. It was not fair to the other players who had a chance to make the playoffs to take their top two pitchers in the middle of a pennant race. George agreed.
The affected players and Red could easily make the trip to New York for tomorrow afternoons, Saturday game. George would call a press conference for 10AM tomorrow morning. The bomb would be dropped then.
Chapter 34 The Dreamers
Chapter 34
Father Spencer decided a phone call was improper to the Lollars and decided to take a plane into Hartford and rent a car and drive the twenty miles or so it was to Madison. The death of someone like Bob Lollar deserved, no demanded, more than just a phone call.
He took a morning flight from Midway and arrived in Hartford at little past noon. He hopped in his rented Mercury Sable and followed the easy directions to get onto I-91 south. He passed through the skyline of Hartford and could see the gold dome of the State Capitol off to his right. He traveled past Wethersfield, Rocky Hill, Cromwell, and Middletown until he got to exit 17, East Main St., Madison, and got off the interstate. He stopped at the Darby's Gulf station and got directions to the Lollar’s home. It was now almost 1PM.
He pulled up into the driveway and found an older woman pulling weeds from the flower bed to the right of the front steps. It must be Mary he thought. Coming down the driveway was a portly gentleman pushing what looked like an empty wheel barrow with a shovel hanging out to one side. This must be Gus.
Father Spencer exited the car, walked around, starting up the front walkway.
Mr. and Mrs. Lollar," inquired Father? I am Father Spencer from Moody Institute.
Gus had made his way over to where Mary had been working. She was now standing, brushing the dirt from her hands, and then wiping them on her garden apron.
"Hello, Father" said Mary with a loving smile on her face. "This is my husband, Gus, Bob's father." The men shook hands.
"Could we go inside," asked Father Spencer. "I need to talk to you."
"Sure, come on in,” replied Gus. "Let's go inside."
Gus placed his hand warmly on Father’s shoulder as he ushered him up the few steps leading into the house. Mary followed.
"Would you like some lemonade, or soda," asked Mary?
"No," replied Father Spencer, "this is not a social call, I'm afraid."
"Bob not doing well in school," asked Gus. "You know, Mary, I thought Bob might have a little trouble at first getting back into studying after almost four years in the military."
Father looked into his hands he was wringing on his lap. Mary sensed immediately it was more than that.
"Father, what is it," asked Mary. "Is Bob all right?"
"I'm afraid not," responded Father Spencer, stumbling through the words. "Your son was murdered last night at a basketball game. It appears to be a drug-related commando style attack. Bob was just one of the over twenty innocent bystanders who were killed. I can't tell you how sorry I am. There was no way I could just call and tell you such terrible news."
Mary and Gus were both so stunned neither could speak. Gus put his arm around Mary as she pulled a small hanky from her dress and began to wipe away the tears that were beginning to form.
"Gus, do you know where Becky went off to with Dave," Mary asked? "We have to tell her right away. We have to call the Pastor and get him started making the funeral arrangements," Mary rambled on. "Gus, you'll have to go to Chicago and pick up the body I suppose, right Father," asked Mary, allowing the peripheral issues to overtake her immediate release of grief.
"Mary, I can take care of that for you if you would like," offered Father Spencer. "You will have enough to deal with back here. If you let me know what funeral home you will be using I will take it from there."
"That's very nice of you, Father," said Mary. "If you will excuse me I think I would like to go lie down for a while," said Mary as she rose. She extended her hand to Father and clasped it warmly.
"Thanks for coming all this way. It means a lot to me and Gus." Mary walked slowly down the hall to her room. You could hear the door close behind her.
"Gus, I am terribly sorry to have to bring you this news," said Father. He made his way toward the front door.
"You know Father," said Gus, "we just never worried about Bob this way. All that time in the service, Bob flying planes and all, we just never worried about his getting killed or even hurt. Maybe we just thought if we ignored the danger nothing would happen to him. It wasn't so much or faith, just that Bob always seemed so invincible I guess."
"I think we all feel that way that WE can never be the victim," replied Father. "Unfortunately, this was totally senseless. Your son was truly a class young man. He will be terribly missed."
"Thank you Father, that is nice of you to say," said Gus.
"I can tell you he would have made a great Pastor," added Father. "I am sure of that."
He shook Gus' hand and made his way back to the car. He had given his card to Gus and told him to have the Funeral home contact him directly. He promised to let Gus know all the details that were worked out.
He made his way back to Bradley Airport and boarded his return flight to Chicago. It was probably a good thing Father Spencer didn't drink. He sure would be on this return flight home.
He sat in his window seat and began browsing through the Hartford Courant newspaper brought by the flight attendant. He turned to page two and found highlights of the national news. A small news brief that read: AP, Chicago. A drug-related commando-style attack claimed the lives of over twenty-five last night in the city suburbs.
Father Spencer folded the paper quietly in his lap. He starred out the window. The flight attendant came back by.
"Father, can I get you something else to read," she inquired.
"Yes," he replied, never taking his eyes from the window. "That would be a good idea."
Father Spencer decided a phone call was improper to the Lollars and decided to take a plane into Hartford and rent a car and drive the twenty miles or so it was to Madison. The death of someone like Bob Lollar deserved, no demanded, more than just a phone call.
He took a morning flight from Midway and arrived in Hartford at little past noon. He hopped in his rented Mercury Sable and followed the easy directions to get onto I-91 south. He passed through the skyline of Hartford and could see the gold dome of the State Capitol off to his right. He traveled past Wethersfield, Rocky Hill, Cromwell, and Middletown until he got to exit 17, East Main St., Madison, and got off the interstate. He stopped at the Darby's Gulf station and got directions to the Lollar’s home. It was now almost 1PM.
He pulled up into the driveway and found an older woman pulling weeds from the flower bed to the right of the front steps. It must be Mary he thought. Coming down the driveway was a portly gentleman pushing what looked like an empty wheel barrow with a shovel hanging out to one side. This must be Gus.
Father Spencer exited the car, walked around, starting up the front walkway.
Mr. and Mrs. Lollar," inquired Father? I am Father Spencer from Moody Institute.
Gus had made his way over to where Mary had been working. She was now standing, brushing the dirt from her hands, and then wiping them on her garden apron.
"Hello, Father" said Mary with a loving smile on her face. "This is my husband, Gus, Bob's father." The men shook hands.
"Could we go inside," asked Father Spencer. "I need to talk to you."
"Sure, come on in,” replied Gus. "Let's go inside."
Gus placed his hand warmly on Father’s shoulder as he ushered him up the few steps leading into the house. Mary followed.
"Would you like some lemonade, or soda," asked Mary?
"No," replied Father Spencer, "this is not a social call, I'm afraid."
"Bob not doing well in school," asked Gus. "You know, Mary, I thought Bob might have a little trouble at first getting back into studying after almost four years in the military."
Father looked into his hands he was wringing on his lap. Mary sensed immediately it was more than that.
"Father, what is it," asked Mary. "Is Bob all right?"
"I'm afraid not," responded Father Spencer, stumbling through the words. "Your son was murdered last night at a basketball game. It appears to be a drug-related commando style attack. Bob was just one of the over twenty innocent bystanders who were killed. I can't tell you how sorry I am. There was no way I could just call and tell you such terrible news."
Mary and Gus were both so stunned neither could speak. Gus put his arm around Mary as she pulled a small hanky from her dress and began to wipe away the tears that were beginning to form.
"Gus, do you know where Becky went off to with Dave," Mary asked? "We have to tell her right away. We have to call the Pastor and get him started making the funeral arrangements," Mary rambled on. "Gus, you'll have to go to Chicago and pick up the body I suppose, right Father," asked Mary, allowing the peripheral issues to overtake her immediate release of grief.
"Mary, I can take care of that for you if you would like," offered Father Spencer. "You will have enough to deal with back here. If you let me know what funeral home you will be using I will take it from there."
"That's very nice of you, Father," said Mary. "If you will excuse me I think I would like to go lie down for a while," said Mary as she rose. She extended her hand to Father and clasped it warmly.
"Thanks for coming all this way. It means a lot to me and Gus." Mary walked slowly down the hall to her room. You could hear the door close behind her.
"Gus, I am terribly sorry to have to bring you this news," said Father. He made his way toward the front door.
"You know Father," said Gus, "we just never worried about Bob this way. All that time in the service, Bob flying planes and all, we just never worried about his getting killed or even hurt. Maybe we just thought if we ignored the danger nothing would happen to him. It wasn't so much or faith, just that Bob always seemed so invincible I guess."
"I think we all feel that way that WE can never be the victim," replied Father. "Unfortunately, this was totally senseless. Your son was truly a class young man. He will be terribly missed."
"Thank you Father, that is nice of you to say," said Gus.
"I can tell you he would have made a great Pastor," added Father. "I am sure of that."
He shook Gus' hand and made his way back to the car. He had given his card to Gus and told him to have the Funeral home contact him directly. He promised to let Gus know all the details that were worked out.
He made his way back to Bradley Airport and boarded his return flight to Chicago. It was probably a good thing Father Spencer didn't drink. He sure would be on this return flight home.
He sat in his window seat and began browsing through the Hartford Courant newspaper brought by the flight attendant. He turned to page two and found highlights of the national news. A small news brief that read: AP, Chicago. A drug-related commando-style attack claimed the lives of over twenty-five last night in the city suburbs.
Father Spencer folded the paper quietly in his lap. He starred out the window. The flight attendant came back by.
"Father, can I get you something else to read," she inquired.
"Yes," he replied, never taking his eyes from the window. "That would be a good idea."
Chapter 33 The Dreamers
Chapter 33
Sergeant Jenkins and Ben arrived at the Administration building parking lot about the same time. Ben remained sitting behind the steering wheel of his car. Jenkins came over and opened his door.
"Come on, Ben," said Jenkins. "I know this is hard, but we have to get this over with. Besides, I've got an all nighter ahead of me. The press is going to be all over us on this one."
Ben got out of the car and the two may their way silently up the stairs and entered Father Spencer's office. Father was listening to his radio. A new bulletin was describing the sketchy details of the Beaupre Massacre as it was now being called. Fr. Spencer motioned for them to sit in the two chairs in front of his desk. He turned off the radio as he turned to them.
"Where is Bob," He asked? "I hope he is all right?"
"That's why we're here," began Sergeant Jenkins. "This is very hard for us," he continued. "Bob is dead, Father. He couldn't get across the court to safety. He had no time like any of the victims. The shooting happened so fast. Looks like were are going to have over twenty-five casualties. Many of the others will arrive at the hospital in critical condition. The final count may be more."
Father Spencer sat in his chair in disbelief while Jenkins rambled on. Father heard only half of what he was saying. His greatest fear had come true. Only Bob was more than just hurt. He was gone. Why, he thought to himself? What good could possibly think could come out of taking such an innocent, young life? His many decades of spiritual training and growth still didn't make this any easier to understand or accept.
"I hope he didn't suffer," stated Father. "He deserved better than that."
"Couldn't have been very long, Uncle," said Ben. "It was over in less than a minute. I barely got out of my car when the murders were speeding off. I was kind of half dozing and listening to the White Sox game when the first shots rang out. It happened so fast even if the police had been there I don't think they could have saved anyone. they might have shot a couple of the assailants, maybe. These thugs had automatic weapons. They knew what they wanted to do."
"Father, do you have the number for Bob's family," asked Jenkins. "Would you like for me to call them?"
"No, I'll take care of it," said Father. "I'm the one who got Bob involved in the first place. It is my fault."
"Father, Let me say this to you right now," stated Jenkins in a firm tone of voice. "This is no one's fault but Motown Matthews. This is not your fault, my fault, or Ben's fault. You need to understand that and accept it right now. If God couldn't stop it how do you think we can? We at Metro try, every day, to stop it. It seems like all we end up doing is cleaning up the wreckage. We don't seem to be able to make even a dent in all the dysfunction this society can create. I am not a very religious man, Father, but it may just take the Second Coming to fix this. It's just too bad Bob had to be another casualty of this stupid war."
"I know, Sergeant," said Father Spencer. "It is just so difficult when all the good we try to do is repaid with evil. This is all so senseless."
"Father, until we get Judges to put all the Motown Mathews away for ever it will never end," added Jenkins. "He never should have been on the street now. I will personally take care of him this time myself. He is not going to get away with this, I can assure you."
Father reached into his middle desk drawer and pulled out an address book and began leafing through the pages. He stopped at the L's and kept his finger on the Bob Lollar's home number in Connecticut.
Father, unless you need me for anything else I need to get down to the station," said Jenkins as he rose from his chair. Ben didn't move.
"No, go ahead," said Father. "I would like to come down to the station tomorrow. Can you help me make arrangements for the body? I would think that the family will want the body back in Connecticut for burial."
"No problem," said Jenkins. "I'll be there for at least the next twenty-four hours. I'll get you through the red tape."
Jenkins left and went down to the station. He went through the booking area where he saw six black men going through the process. He called to the Desk Sergeant.
"Riccio, fill me in," stated Jenkins. "These guys part of the Beaupre shooting?"
"Ya, Sarge, they are," said Riccio. "Officers cornered them down by the docks at Lexington. Two others are being chased in the vacant warehouses right now. May take some time, but our swat team is on the way. Should have them out, one way or another, by midnight."
"Put out an APB on Motown Matthews," said Jenkins sternly, anger filling his face and voice. "I want him in this office by day break. I want every available Officer on this now!"
"You got it," answered Riccio as he broke out of the office. He knew a priority when he heard one. Captain Moss entered the office.
"What a mess, Jenkins," stated Moss. "Fill me in."
Jenkins could have cared less about what Captain Moss thought. He knew all he was worried about was his precious career and how this could hurt any chances he might have to become Commissioner if it wasn't solved in a hurry. Moss was never the type to dirty his hands with the nasty side of police work, but he was always around for the photo-opportunities. They had both come through the Academy together. Moss just knew which rear-ends to kiss up to along the way. That was not Jenkins style.
He filled his superior officer in, anyhow. This was not the time to be picking a fight or being sarcastic. Jenkins had much bigger fish to fry. What a night this was going to be.
Jenkins found out which interrogation rooms the alleged perpetrators were in. He entered room 2A and went to the back of the room and leaned up against the wall with his arms folded against his chest. A Public Defender was already seated at the table next to one of the shooters. A tooth pick was hanging out of his mouth.
"Excuse me," said Jenkins. "I hate to interrupt. Mr. Robinson is it," as Jenkins looked at the top of the file? Take the tooth pick out of your mouth while you're in this building."
"Don't be rousting my client," said the attorney. "He may decide not to cooperate."
"That would be most unfortunate for him, wouldn't it," announced Jenkins, moving up and leaning on the table with both hands in the attorney's face. "He can remove it now and be most cooperative, or he can have it surgically removed after he has been in lock-up for while. I don't care which it is. I've got over twenty-five people dead as the result of your client here. I would advise you not to make me one ounce madder than I am at this point. I am not interested in any of your legal garbage, either."
Robinson sized up the situation rather quickly and put the tooth pick in his pocket and sat up in his chair.
"No problem, Sarge," said Robinson. "It's cool."
Jenkins moved back off the table and leaned up against the wall again. Officer Miller resumed his questioning again. There would be no more interruptions.
Sergeant Jenkins and Ben arrived at the Administration building parking lot about the same time. Ben remained sitting behind the steering wheel of his car. Jenkins came over and opened his door.
"Come on, Ben," said Jenkins. "I know this is hard, but we have to get this over with. Besides, I've got an all nighter ahead of me. The press is going to be all over us on this one."
Ben got out of the car and the two may their way silently up the stairs and entered Father Spencer's office. Father was listening to his radio. A new bulletin was describing the sketchy details of the Beaupre Massacre as it was now being called. Fr. Spencer motioned for them to sit in the two chairs in front of his desk. He turned off the radio as he turned to them.
"Where is Bob," He asked? "I hope he is all right?"
"That's why we're here," began Sergeant Jenkins. "This is very hard for us," he continued. "Bob is dead, Father. He couldn't get across the court to safety. He had no time like any of the victims. The shooting happened so fast. Looks like were are going to have over twenty-five casualties. Many of the others will arrive at the hospital in critical condition. The final count may be more."
Father Spencer sat in his chair in disbelief while Jenkins rambled on. Father heard only half of what he was saying. His greatest fear had come true. Only Bob was more than just hurt. He was gone. Why, he thought to himself? What good could possibly think could come out of taking such an innocent, young life? His many decades of spiritual training and growth still didn't make this any easier to understand or accept.
"I hope he didn't suffer," stated Father. "He deserved better than that."
"Couldn't have been very long, Uncle," said Ben. "It was over in less than a minute. I barely got out of my car when the murders were speeding off. I was kind of half dozing and listening to the White Sox game when the first shots rang out. It happened so fast even if the police had been there I don't think they could have saved anyone. they might have shot a couple of the assailants, maybe. These thugs had automatic weapons. They knew what they wanted to do."
"Father, do you have the number for Bob's family," asked Jenkins. "Would you like for me to call them?"
"No, I'll take care of it," said Father. "I'm the one who got Bob involved in the first place. It is my fault."
"Father, Let me say this to you right now," stated Jenkins in a firm tone of voice. "This is no one's fault but Motown Matthews. This is not your fault, my fault, or Ben's fault. You need to understand that and accept it right now. If God couldn't stop it how do you think we can? We at Metro try, every day, to stop it. It seems like all we end up doing is cleaning up the wreckage. We don't seem to be able to make even a dent in all the dysfunction this society can create. I am not a very religious man, Father, but it may just take the Second Coming to fix this. It's just too bad Bob had to be another casualty of this stupid war."
"I know, Sergeant," said Father Spencer. "It is just so difficult when all the good we try to do is repaid with evil. This is all so senseless."
"Father, until we get Judges to put all the Motown Mathews away for ever it will never end," added Jenkins. "He never should have been on the street now. I will personally take care of him this time myself. He is not going to get away with this, I can assure you."
Father reached into his middle desk drawer and pulled out an address book and began leafing through the pages. He stopped at the L's and kept his finger on the Bob Lollar's home number in Connecticut.
Father, unless you need me for anything else I need to get down to the station," said Jenkins as he rose from his chair. Ben didn't move.
"No, go ahead," said Father. "I would like to come down to the station tomorrow. Can you help me make arrangements for the body? I would think that the family will want the body back in Connecticut for burial."
"No problem," said Jenkins. "I'll be there for at least the next twenty-four hours. I'll get you through the red tape."
Jenkins left and went down to the station. He went through the booking area where he saw six black men going through the process. He called to the Desk Sergeant.
"Riccio, fill me in," stated Jenkins. "These guys part of the Beaupre shooting?"
"Ya, Sarge, they are," said Riccio. "Officers cornered them down by the docks at Lexington. Two others are being chased in the vacant warehouses right now. May take some time, but our swat team is on the way. Should have them out, one way or another, by midnight."
"Put out an APB on Motown Matthews," said Jenkins sternly, anger filling his face and voice. "I want him in this office by day break. I want every available Officer on this now!"
"You got it," answered Riccio as he broke out of the office. He knew a priority when he heard one. Captain Moss entered the office.
"What a mess, Jenkins," stated Moss. "Fill me in."
Jenkins could have cared less about what Captain Moss thought. He knew all he was worried about was his precious career and how this could hurt any chances he might have to become Commissioner if it wasn't solved in a hurry. Moss was never the type to dirty his hands with the nasty side of police work, but he was always around for the photo-opportunities. They had both come through the Academy together. Moss just knew which rear-ends to kiss up to along the way. That was not Jenkins style.
He filled his superior officer in, anyhow. This was not the time to be picking a fight or being sarcastic. Jenkins had much bigger fish to fry. What a night this was going to be.
Jenkins found out which interrogation rooms the alleged perpetrators were in. He entered room 2A and went to the back of the room and leaned up against the wall with his arms folded against his chest. A Public Defender was already seated at the table next to one of the shooters. A tooth pick was hanging out of his mouth.
"Excuse me," said Jenkins. "I hate to interrupt. Mr. Robinson is it," as Jenkins looked at the top of the file? Take the tooth pick out of your mouth while you're in this building."
"Don't be rousting my client," said the attorney. "He may decide not to cooperate."
"That would be most unfortunate for him, wouldn't it," announced Jenkins, moving up and leaning on the table with both hands in the attorney's face. "He can remove it now and be most cooperative, or he can have it surgically removed after he has been in lock-up for while. I don't care which it is. I've got over twenty-five people dead as the result of your client here. I would advise you not to make me one ounce madder than I am at this point. I am not interested in any of your legal garbage, either."
Robinson sized up the situation rather quickly and put the tooth pick in his pocket and sat up in his chair.
"No problem, Sarge," said Robinson. "It's cool."
Jenkins moved back off the table and leaned up against the wall again. Officer Miller resumed his questioning again. There would be no more interruptions.
Chapter 32 The Dreamers
Chapter 32
The alarm went off right on the dot and I gathered my basketball gear, dressed, and headed out for Beaupre. As I headed through the old neighborhoods the sounds of ethnic music filled the night air. Children were out playing on the sidewalk.
Boys were playing stickball in the middle of the street. Chalk marked their bases. It reminded me of my countless hours of waffle-ball games in the back yard, countless games of homerun derby played until darkness robbed us of another inning. I thought that even these children are oblivious to all that is going on. Or, maybe they are just numb to it all. Who knows what how they really deal with the poverty and the violence that surrounds them, I thought.
I arrived at Beaupre with the second half of the game before ours just starting. Some of the Knight players were sitting with Coach McKay across the way at the bleachers' end. I go over. I glanced around and see a white BMW pull up within 100 feet of the court. The driver's window was powered down and a black hand came out flicking cigarette ashes to the ground.
The Knight players greeted me. I did likewise and took a seat next to Coach McKay.
"How you doin, Coach," I ask?
"O.K.," said Dave. "I hate these late games, though. It makes 6 AM come awful soon. It should be our last late game of the season. I guess I'll make it."
"This game seems to be moving along pretty quickly," I state. We may get started before nine."
"That would be all right with me," Said McKay. "I'd like to get home early."
Coach asked the Knights to start loosening up behind the bleachers with some passing drills he had been working on. They obliged.
As I got up I noticed two other cars, big Lincolns, pulled up behind Motown's Beemer. Eight big men got out; four had long trench coats on and moved to the side of the vehicles closest to the court. I began to sense that something was wrong. This did not look good.
I looked across the street and saw Ben's car with the window partially rolled down. No sooner did I turn around than I heard the sound of what appeared to be fire crackers. Crack, Crack, Crack, Crack. The sound of screams filled the night air as people began running in every direction. Crack, crack, crack, crack. There appeared to by hundreds of shot by now filling the court.
I turned to see the four men in long coats with automatic rifles, M16's I thought. Two had dropped their magazines to the ground and were inserting new clips.
People were littering the court, lying in pain, screaming, blood seemed to be everywhere. Six players were down as well as fifteen to twenty spectators. I spotted Esther and Dwight trying frantically to get Dwight's tricycle unstuck from the bleacher corner rail. I ran toward them.
"Esther," I shouted at the top of my lungs! Leave it! Get down," I yelled! "Get down!"
Within a split second I felt sharp pains in both of my legs as I crumpled to the pavement. On my way down sharp pains entered both shoulder blades and my lower back. I hit the asphalt hard, like I had been tackled by a 300 pound lineman from behind, breaking the cheekbone to the right of my nose. The pain was immense. God, did it hurt. I tried to raise myself up, but I couldn't. My thigh bones had to be shattered by the 5.62mm rounds that sped through my legs. I tried to drag myself with my arms but the pain from my shoulders was too great. I just laid there with my left cheek against to pavement watching people still running for their lives. The level of screaming seemed loud or louder than any cheering crowd I had ever heard at any big game.
The pain was getting even more unbearable and then I saw two feet walk right up to my side. I looked up to barely make out a shape on some man with a long coat.
"Tough luck, Whitey," said a Husky, scratchy, bass voice. "You shoulda stayed in your own neighborhood."
I saw the man raise his arm; his hand held what looked like a military .45. I never thought I would be dying this way. I only heard the first shots that ripped threw my skull.
Within forth-five seconds 25 people were dead and the attackers sped off into the night. Two unmarked police cars sped off in pursuit. Five minutes later the street was blocked off by Metro Police cars. Sergeant Jenkins arrived, got out of his car and began scanning the basketball court. He spotted Bob lying at the far side of center court. He ran as fast as he could.
"Bob, Bob," he shouted. "Get me a paramedic over here, now," he shouted, turning as he ran! "Now," he said!
He got to Bob's body, kneeled down, but saw the blood from the two head wounds he suffered and knew it was too late. He felt his neck, anyway, just in case there was still some pulse. He knew from experience that there would be none. He could still hope, he thought. He took off his rain coat and draped it over Bob's upper body. Tears began flowing down his face. His greatest fear had become reality. He really admired Bob. Thought he could protect him. Reality was there was no way he really could. Not from these thugs who strike so indiscriminately.
Jenkins wiped the tears from his eyes, raised his head and scanned the entire Beaupre court area. Bodies everywhere. Moans of pain, occasional screams, and crying fill the air. Sirens filled the background with shouts of directions coming from police and EMT personnel who seemed to be everywhere.
Jenkins sat cross legged against Bob's body, still not wanting to believe what had happened. He spotted Ben walking slowly over to where Jenkins was. Ben stopped next to Jenkins, kneeled down and put his hand on Jenkins' shoulder.
He made the sign of the cross on his chest and began to pray. "Dear Father in Heaven," began Ben, as tears began streaming down his face. His voice began cracking as each word crossed lips.
"Take this life you so graciously blessed us with for such a short time," he continued. "He loved you and your Son more than his own life. Please grant him a special place at your side. He will be greatly missed."
Ben and Sergeant Jenkins remained at Bob's side, still numb from what had happened. What a senseless death they both thought. What a great potential lost in Bob's death. What a senseless tragedy.
"I will get these guys who did this," announced Jenkins in an angry voice. "If I have to kill them with my own bear hands, I swear I will get them. Motown’s' days are numbered now."
Sergeant Jenkins rose to his feet. Paramedics came over and placed bob's body on a stretcher and rolled him over to one of the 6 ambulances that lined the street. Jenkins pulled his business card from his breast pocket and handed it to a young, female attendant.
See that the Coroner calls before he does anything with this body, understand," said Jenkins sternly. "Can you do that for me?"
"No problem," she replied. "I'll take care of it myself."
They rolled the body to the ambulance, pushed the cart passed the doors, slammed them, climbed in, and took off toward the morgue. No siren was needed on this run.
"Ben," said Jenkins. "Follow me back to the campus. I'll call your Uncle from my car and we can tell him the bad news together. O.K.?"
"No problem," answered Ben. "I'll meet you there."
They went to their cars and sped off into the night. This was a visit Jenkins did not want to make. Never thought he would have to. He kept thinking of what he would say. What could he say? How could he even bring himself to do it? Even with all of his years of Police work, all his experience, planning, attention to details, he hated this part of the job the most. Who wouldn’t?
The alarm went off right on the dot and I gathered my basketball gear, dressed, and headed out for Beaupre. As I headed through the old neighborhoods the sounds of ethnic music filled the night air. Children were out playing on the sidewalk.
Boys were playing stickball in the middle of the street. Chalk marked their bases. It reminded me of my countless hours of waffle-ball games in the back yard, countless games of homerun derby played until darkness robbed us of another inning. I thought that even these children are oblivious to all that is going on. Or, maybe they are just numb to it all. Who knows what how they really deal with the poverty and the violence that surrounds them, I thought.
I arrived at Beaupre with the second half of the game before ours just starting. Some of the Knight players were sitting with Coach McKay across the way at the bleachers' end. I go over. I glanced around and see a white BMW pull up within 100 feet of the court. The driver's window was powered down and a black hand came out flicking cigarette ashes to the ground.
The Knight players greeted me. I did likewise and took a seat next to Coach McKay.
"How you doin, Coach," I ask?
"O.K.," said Dave. "I hate these late games, though. It makes 6 AM come awful soon. It should be our last late game of the season. I guess I'll make it."
"This game seems to be moving along pretty quickly," I state. We may get started before nine."
"That would be all right with me," Said McKay. "I'd like to get home early."
Coach asked the Knights to start loosening up behind the bleachers with some passing drills he had been working on. They obliged.
As I got up I noticed two other cars, big Lincolns, pulled up behind Motown's Beemer. Eight big men got out; four had long trench coats on and moved to the side of the vehicles closest to the court. I began to sense that something was wrong. This did not look good.
I looked across the street and saw Ben's car with the window partially rolled down. No sooner did I turn around than I heard the sound of what appeared to be fire crackers. Crack, Crack, Crack, Crack. The sound of screams filled the night air as people began running in every direction. Crack, crack, crack, crack. There appeared to by hundreds of shot by now filling the court.
I turned to see the four men in long coats with automatic rifles, M16's I thought. Two had dropped their magazines to the ground and were inserting new clips.
People were littering the court, lying in pain, screaming, blood seemed to be everywhere. Six players were down as well as fifteen to twenty spectators. I spotted Esther and Dwight trying frantically to get Dwight's tricycle unstuck from the bleacher corner rail. I ran toward them.
"Esther," I shouted at the top of my lungs! Leave it! Get down," I yelled! "Get down!"
Within a split second I felt sharp pains in both of my legs as I crumpled to the pavement. On my way down sharp pains entered both shoulder blades and my lower back. I hit the asphalt hard, like I had been tackled by a 300 pound lineman from behind, breaking the cheekbone to the right of my nose. The pain was immense. God, did it hurt. I tried to raise myself up, but I couldn't. My thigh bones had to be shattered by the 5.62mm rounds that sped through my legs. I tried to drag myself with my arms but the pain from my shoulders was too great. I just laid there with my left cheek against to pavement watching people still running for their lives. The level of screaming seemed loud or louder than any cheering crowd I had ever heard at any big game.
The pain was getting even more unbearable and then I saw two feet walk right up to my side. I looked up to barely make out a shape on some man with a long coat.
"Tough luck, Whitey," said a Husky, scratchy, bass voice. "You shoulda stayed in your own neighborhood."
I saw the man raise his arm; his hand held what looked like a military .45. I never thought I would be dying this way. I only heard the first shots that ripped threw my skull.
Within forth-five seconds 25 people were dead and the attackers sped off into the night. Two unmarked police cars sped off in pursuit. Five minutes later the street was blocked off by Metro Police cars. Sergeant Jenkins arrived, got out of his car and began scanning the basketball court. He spotted Bob lying at the far side of center court. He ran as fast as he could.
"Bob, Bob," he shouted. "Get me a paramedic over here, now," he shouted, turning as he ran! "Now," he said!
He got to Bob's body, kneeled down, but saw the blood from the two head wounds he suffered and knew it was too late. He felt his neck, anyway, just in case there was still some pulse. He knew from experience that there would be none. He could still hope, he thought. He took off his rain coat and draped it over Bob's upper body. Tears began flowing down his face. His greatest fear had become reality. He really admired Bob. Thought he could protect him. Reality was there was no way he really could. Not from these thugs who strike so indiscriminately.
Jenkins wiped the tears from his eyes, raised his head and scanned the entire Beaupre court area. Bodies everywhere. Moans of pain, occasional screams, and crying fill the air. Sirens filled the background with shouts of directions coming from police and EMT personnel who seemed to be everywhere.
Jenkins sat cross legged against Bob's body, still not wanting to believe what had happened. He spotted Ben walking slowly over to where Jenkins was. Ben stopped next to Jenkins, kneeled down and put his hand on Jenkins' shoulder.
He made the sign of the cross on his chest and began to pray. "Dear Father in Heaven," began Ben, as tears began streaming down his face. His voice began cracking as each word crossed lips.
"Take this life you so graciously blessed us with for such a short time," he continued. "He loved you and your Son more than his own life. Please grant him a special place at your side. He will be greatly missed."
Ben and Sergeant Jenkins remained at Bob's side, still numb from what had happened. What a senseless death they both thought. What a great potential lost in Bob's death. What a senseless tragedy.
"I will get these guys who did this," announced Jenkins in an angry voice. "If I have to kill them with my own bear hands, I swear I will get them. Motown’s' days are numbered now."
Sergeant Jenkins rose to his feet. Paramedics came over and placed bob's body on a stretcher and rolled him over to one of the 6 ambulances that lined the street. Jenkins pulled his business card from his breast pocket and handed it to a young, female attendant.
See that the Coroner calls before he does anything with this body, understand," said Jenkins sternly. "Can you do that for me?"
"No problem," she replied. "I'll take care of it myself."
They rolled the body to the ambulance, pushed the cart passed the doors, slammed them, climbed in, and took off toward the morgue. No siren was needed on this run.
"Ben," said Jenkins. "Follow me back to the campus. I'll call your Uncle from my car and we can tell him the bad news together. O.K.?"
"No problem," answered Ben. "I'll meet you there."
They went to their cars and sped off into the night. This was a visit Jenkins did not want to make. Never thought he would have to. He kept thinking of what he would say. What could he say? How could he even bring himself to do it? Even with all of his years of Police work, all his experience, planning, attention to details, he hated this part of the job the most. Who wouldn’t?
Chapter 31 The Dreamers
Chapter 31 The Dreamers
Since I joined the Chicago Knights the team could do no wrong. It reeled off nine straight wins over two months and gave me a chance to really fit in with the team and the league. If I had been able to pile up more playing minutes I could be leading the league in scoring and assists, but that didn't matter to me. My goal was to try and be a part of stopping the violence that was destroying the community. Four more murders had occurred during this period, one was another player in the league. It was becoming clear that there was clearly something wrong with some of the players in the league.
The Knights had another game this evening with the last place team in the league. It was the late game which usually started around 9PM. The usual arrangements were made with Sergeant Jenkins with full surveillance across the street.
I had just come back from class and decided to call home. Dad answered the phone.
"Hey, son, how are you," said Dad cheerfully? "Your Mom has been bugging me to call you for a couple of days. Seems like I keep missing you."
"I'm O.K., Dad," I said. "Keeping pretty busy with school. Kind of hard at first getting back into the grind of studying again, but I've settled in now, I guess. How's everybody back home?"
"Everybody is fine back here," said Dad. "The team is doing great. First place by ten games, if you can believe it. Billy is tearing up the league. He is a perfect seven and 0 with an E.R.A. under one and a half and is hitting .360. The guy is making everyone on the team work so much harder trying to keep up. Reggie and Tavy are tied for the league lead in RBI's, with Reggie just ahead of him in the homerun derby twenty-two to twenty. This is all very hard to believe coming into July playing this well. Even Mr. Big has come up to see the team."
"You're kidding," I said. "George came all the way up from the Big Apple just to see AA baseball? Wonder what's on his mind." I ask?
"I don't know," Dad answered. "The big club is playing terrible. Last place in the A.L. East, fourteen games out. From what I read into the box scores their defense stinks and they lead the league in runners left on base. Mr. S. is not a happy camper."
"Dad, you don't think he is mad enough to bring up some of the players from the Madison team, do you," I ask? Just because some of these guys are having good years doesn't mean there ready to make the AA jump to the Show."
"I know," replied Dad. "Red and I have talked briefly about it. But, if George has made up his mind, secretly, there is not much any of us can do to change it. It is not smart career wise to get in his way if you want to stay in the Monarch organization."
"Oh, by the way," said Dad, "Your sister and Dave got engaged two days ago. Your Mom and I are real happy for them. We haven't seen your sister so happy. The wedding is set for October sometime, depending on our playoff chances. Sure would be great if you could come home for the wedding."
"Dad, that's great news," I said cheerfully. "I'm so happy for them. You'll tell Becky I'll be there with bells on. Wouldn't miss it for anything. Give her my love, will you?"
"Sure," Dad said responded.
"Tell everybody Hi for me," I continue. "Would love to see all of you. Definitely in October. Take care and keep that team in first place, will ya?"
"We'll try," assured Dad. "Take care, Son. Bye."
"Bye, Dad," I said, and hung up the phone.
It was just about 5PM and I decided I had better go over and get something to eat before the game. Someone knocked on my door.
"Bob," said a fellow student who was an office runner for Father Spencer? Father would like to see you when you have some time. He'll be in his office until 7PM."
"Thanks, I'll go over right after I grab a bite to eat." I replied. "Tell Father I'll see him by 5:45PM, O.K.?"
"No problem, I'll pass the word along," said the student. He headed back to Father Spencer's office to pass the word.
At 5:40PM I entered Fr. Spencer's outer office and found his door wide open. I knocked on the door frame and peaked inside.
"Father, you wanted to see me," I state?
"Yes, son, please come on in," said Father in a cheerful tone. "Haven't talked to you in a week or so and just wanted to make sure you were all right. Are your studies coming along?"
"Yes, Father, no problems yet," I answer. "With only eight hours of classes it is not too hard to keep up."
"Good," said Father. "Hear the basketball team is doing quite well with you on it. Sergeant Jenkins fills me in, you know."
"The team is doing pretty well," I replied. "Pretty good bunch of guys. It appears that the Knight players are clean and not involved in any illegal activity that I can spot. These murders have everyone a little on edge, though."
"Just be careful, that's all I ask," stated Father Spencer. "Jenkins says this Motown something is one bad character. I hope you are staying clear of him?"
"He hasn't tried to bother me or many of the Knight players," I answered. "Most just seem to brush him off. Guess he has enough action elsewhere to not need Knight players at this point."
"Is there anything I can do for you," asked Father?
"No, I don't think so," I reply. "Ben has been a big help. Great guy."
"Yes, I am so proud of him," smiled Father. "Had a full scholarship to Notre Dame for football, but chose to enter the ministry. He is a very special young man, just like you, Bob. We need more young men like the two of you. Your generation needs more leaders like the two of you."
"That's nice of you to say," I said. "Ben's about to graduate, I still have a long way to go."
"You'll make it," announced Father Spencer. "You'll make it."
"You ought to try and come to a game sometime," I offer. "I think you might enjoy it."
"Maybe I'll do just that," said Father, as he rose from his chair. I rose as well.
"Hope so," I said.
"Bob, if you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know," offered Father. "Don't be a stranger, either."
"I won't," I reply. "I know you're busy and I don't want to be a pest."
"You'll never be that," said Father emphatically. "We're in this together, don't forget."
"I know," I state. "Since I've been here it is a different feeling I have. It's kind of hard to explain. Kind of an inner peace, a calmness I've never know before."
"I know," said Father. "Those who are truly called feel the same way. Everything seems to fall in place. You'll be just fine. Good luck tonight."
I thanked Father Spencer and headed back to my room. I thought about our conversation as I slowly waked across campus and admired the beautiful grounds. How lucky I thought I was to be going to school here and trying to help the Police solve a major problem within the neighboring community.
Back at the room I decided to take a short nap before the game. I set the alarm for 7:30PM and fell right to sleep.
Since I joined the Chicago Knights the team could do no wrong. It reeled off nine straight wins over two months and gave me a chance to really fit in with the team and the league. If I had been able to pile up more playing minutes I could be leading the league in scoring and assists, but that didn't matter to me. My goal was to try and be a part of stopping the violence that was destroying the community. Four more murders had occurred during this period, one was another player in the league. It was becoming clear that there was clearly something wrong with some of the players in the league.
The Knights had another game this evening with the last place team in the league. It was the late game which usually started around 9PM. The usual arrangements were made with Sergeant Jenkins with full surveillance across the street.
I had just come back from class and decided to call home. Dad answered the phone.
"Hey, son, how are you," said Dad cheerfully? "Your Mom has been bugging me to call you for a couple of days. Seems like I keep missing you."
"I'm O.K., Dad," I said. "Keeping pretty busy with school. Kind of hard at first getting back into the grind of studying again, but I've settled in now, I guess. How's everybody back home?"
"Everybody is fine back here," said Dad. "The team is doing great. First place by ten games, if you can believe it. Billy is tearing up the league. He is a perfect seven and 0 with an E.R.A. under one and a half and is hitting .360. The guy is making everyone on the team work so much harder trying to keep up. Reggie and Tavy are tied for the league lead in RBI's, with Reggie just ahead of him in the homerun derby twenty-two to twenty. This is all very hard to believe coming into July playing this well. Even Mr. Big has come up to see the team."
"You're kidding," I said. "George came all the way up from the Big Apple just to see AA baseball? Wonder what's on his mind." I ask?
"I don't know," Dad answered. "The big club is playing terrible. Last place in the A.L. East, fourteen games out. From what I read into the box scores their defense stinks and they lead the league in runners left on base. Mr. S. is not a happy camper."
"Dad, you don't think he is mad enough to bring up some of the players from the Madison team, do you," I ask? Just because some of these guys are having good years doesn't mean there ready to make the AA jump to the Show."
"I know," replied Dad. "Red and I have talked briefly about it. But, if George has made up his mind, secretly, there is not much any of us can do to change it. It is not smart career wise to get in his way if you want to stay in the Monarch organization."
"Oh, by the way," said Dad, "Your sister and Dave got engaged two days ago. Your Mom and I are real happy for them. We haven't seen your sister so happy. The wedding is set for October sometime, depending on our playoff chances. Sure would be great if you could come home for the wedding."
"Dad, that's great news," I said cheerfully. "I'm so happy for them. You'll tell Becky I'll be there with bells on. Wouldn't miss it for anything. Give her my love, will you?"
"Sure," Dad said responded.
"Tell everybody Hi for me," I continue. "Would love to see all of you. Definitely in October. Take care and keep that team in first place, will ya?"
"We'll try," assured Dad. "Take care, Son. Bye."
"Bye, Dad," I said, and hung up the phone.
It was just about 5PM and I decided I had better go over and get something to eat before the game. Someone knocked on my door.
"Bob," said a fellow student who was an office runner for Father Spencer? Father would like to see you when you have some time. He'll be in his office until 7PM."
"Thanks, I'll go over right after I grab a bite to eat." I replied. "Tell Father I'll see him by 5:45PM, O.K.?"
"No problem, I'll pass the word along," said the student. He headed back to Father Spencer's office to pass the word.
At 5:40PM I entered Fr. Spencer's outer office and found his door wide open. I knocked on the door frame and peaked inside.
"Father, you wanted to see me," I state?
"Yes, son, please come on in," said Father in a cheerful tone. "Haven't talked to you in a week or so and just wanted to make sure you were all right. Are your studies coming along?"
"Yes, Father, no problems yet," I answer. "With only eight hours of classes it is not too hard to keep up."
"Good," said Father. "Hear the basketball team is doing quite well with you on it. Sergeant Jenkins fills me in, you know."
"The team is doing pretty well," I replied. "Pretty good bunch of guys. It appears that the Knight players are clean and not involved in any illegal activity that I can spot. These murders have everyone a little on edge, though."
"Just be careful, that's all I ask," stated Father Spencer. "Jenkins says this Motown something is one bad character. I hope you are staying clear of him?"
"He hasn't tried to bother me or many of the Knight players," I answered. "Most just seem to brush him off. Guess he has enough action elsewhere to not need Knight players at this point."
"Is there anything I can do for you," asked Father?
"No, I don't think so," I reply. "Ben has been a big help. Great guy."
"Yes, I am so proud of him," smiled Father. "Had a full scholarship to Notre Dame for football, but chose to enter the ministry. He is a very special young man, just like you, Bob. We need more young men like the two of you. Your generation needs more leaders like the two of you."
"That's nice of you to say," I said. "Ben's about to graduate, I still have a long way to go."
"You'll make it," announced Father Spencer. "You'll make it."
"You ought to try and come to a game sometime," I offer. "I think you might enjoy it."
"Maybe I'll do just that," said Father, as he rose from his chair. I rose as well.
"Hope so," I said.
"Bob, if you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know," offered Father. "Don't be a stranger, either."
"I won't," I reply. "I know you're busy and I don't want to be a pest."
"You'll never be that," said Father emphatically. "We're in this together, don't forget."
"I know," I state. "Since I've been here it is a different feeling I have. It's kind of hard to explain. Kind of an inner peace, a calmness I've never know before."
"I know," said Father. "Those who are truly called feel the same way. Everything seems to fall in place. You'll be just fine. Good luck tonight."
I thanked Father Spencer and headed back to my room. I thought about our conversation as I slowly waked across campus and admired the beautiful grounds. How lucky I thought I was to be going to school here and trying to help the Police solve a major problem within the neighboring community.
Back at the room I decided to take a short nap before the game. I set the alarm for 7:30PM and fell right to sleep.
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